


Try explaining a life bundled with episodes of this

by thenightpainter



Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M, Post-Battle, Pre-Canon, Stitches, Wounds, billy gets injured and flint has to sew him up, descriptions of injuries, discussion of (battle related) scars, not the most shippy but I tried
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 10:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11896140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenightpainter/pseuds/thenightpainter
Summary: “Do you trust me, Billy?” Flint asked, looking him in the eye.Billy blinked.“Yes, Captain,” he responded, though he wasn’t sure if he truly did. Flint certainly didn’t trust him, or anyone on the crew really.“Good. This shirt needs to go.” Flint’s expression softened.Billy tried to glance over his shoulder to look at the wound better but all he saw was blood. All the times Billy dreamed of being shirtless in Flint’s cabin with him, this certainly wasn’t it.





	Try explaining a life bundled with episodes of this

**Author's Note:**

> For [ caesarsbuddy ](http://caesarsbuddy.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, based on their prompt: “maybe something post-battle, they’re in the captains quarters, billy’s hurt and flint stitches him up and billy’s like “you can cook AND stitch people up, what more can you do..?” wink wink ;)”

The smoke cleared and almost everything was in order to cut the other ship loose. The prize was quite impressive and most of the crew were in high spirits. Billy, however, was quite concerned about the tolls this haul took. The ship they chased turned out to be far larger than expected, something Flint failed to mention before it was too late. They were heavily outmanned, but somehow they managed to out maneuver the large merchant ship and take it by surprise. 

Still, at least two men were dead and several more injured. Billy could hear them screaming from below decks. Now his attention was mostly on the terrible ache in his back and shoulder. He’d been struck with something, and barely registered it until the fighting was over. He made his way across the ship when Flint caught his arm. Billy looked back in surprise.  

“Billy, that cut needs attention,” Flint said, nodding to his shoulder. 

“No, it’s alright, Captain,” Billy lied. He didn’t realize it was a cut, he turned his head to see the blood soaking his shirt. 

“The fuck it is!” Flint continued. “Come with me.”

“Captain, where-” he didn’t bother continuing, he simply followed Flint into the captain’s cabin.

Flint shrugged off his coat, putting it over the back of a chair, then proceeded to roll up his sleeves. 

“Sit down,”he motioned to the chair at his desk. “That wound needs to be stitched up.” 

“I thought Dr. Howell was-” 

“Howell is occupied with Jones’ broken arm, so it seems like you’ll have to make do with me,” Flint said, plainly.

Flint walked across to room to get a pitcher of water and a cloth. When he came back he pulled a needle and thread out from his desk. Billy froze.

“Wait, are you going to-” he shifted in the chair away from Flint.

“Relax Billy, I know what I’m doing,” he said, calmly. “Do you trust me, Billy?” Flint asked, looking him in the eye.

Billy blinked.“Yes, Captain,” he responded, though he wasn’t sure if he truly did. Flint certainly didn’t trust him, or anyone on the crew really. 

“Good. This shirt needs to go.” Flint’s expression softened.  

Billy tried to lift it over his head with his good arm, but any movements with the other were difficult. He winced. Noticing, Flint grabbed the fabric and helped his out of it. Billy tried to glance over his shoulder to look at the wound better but all he saw was blood. All the times Billy dreamed of being shirtless in Flint’s cabin with him, this certainly wasn’t it. 

“Easy,” Flint put a hand on his shoulder. He sat down beside Billy and started cleaning the blood of his shoulder. It stung when the wet cloth crossed the wound. 

“Now, here take this,” he handed Billy the bottle of rum on the desk. Billy was never one for drinking, but today seemed as good a day as any.

“Hold still,” Flint said and squeezed his shoulder hard. 

“Ah!” Billy jumped when the needle pierced his skin. 

“I did say hold still didn’t I?” he said, sternly. Then his tone softened. “Look, if you move it isn’t going to make my job any easier and it will only hurt more.”

“Sorry, Captain,” Billy apologized. 

“No need to apologize, it’s really more your problem than mine.”

Billy took a long drink of the rum. He winced when the second stitch went in, but tried his best to hold still. 

“Now this is a deep wound, so it will likely scar. Probably your first of many,” Flint continued. 

“How do you know all this?” Billy asked.

“Year of experience, I suppose,” he answered, quietly. 

From what Billy’s heard, Flint’s been a pirate for at least eight years, and if the rumours were true he was a Navy man before that. He certainly must have seen a lot of battle. Billy wondered how many years it takes to be as unfazed as Flint by a fight as the one that took place today.  

“When did you get your first battle scar?” he finally asked Flint. He regretted asking it immediately, it was silly. It seemed that the rum was starting to get to him.  

“About twenty years ago now,” Flint answered. “Right here,” with his left hand he traced along Billy’s ribs. Billy felt a chill run through him, caught off guard by how gentle the touch was. 

“I was fighting and I didn’t see the other man behind me until his sword hit,” Flint continued. “Or did you mean as a pirate?” 

So it was true, at least some part of the stories. “No-” Billy started. “I mean, either one.”

“Well, than that would be this.” Flint leaned forward to show him the faint line on his freckled forearm. “From some drunk in the tavern with a broken glass,” he laughed. 

“Alright, you’re done,” Flint announced, standing and rolling up the extra thread. 

“Where did you learn to do this?” Billy asked, though he was sure he’d already asked too many questions. 

“Well, had to out of necessity, really,” Flint answered, avoiding the original question. 

“No, seriously?”

Flint just shrugged, reaching his hand out with Billy’s blood stained shirt. He turned and cautiously put his hand on Billy’s arm. “Careful with this, perhaps avoid lifting anything too heavy for a few days.” 

“I’ll try,” Billy responded, taking the shirt. “You can cook better than the actual cook and you can sew up a wound? What else can you do?”

Flint just grinned. Billy knew he wasn’t going to get a straight answer, but he could only imagine. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the last bit of the poem _Little Beast_ by Richard Siken:
> 
>  
> 
> What would you like? I’d like my money’s worth.  
>             Try explaining a life bundled with episodes of this—  
>       swallowing mud, swallowing glass, the smell of blood  
> on the first four knuckles.  
>               We pull our boots on with both hands  
> but we can’t punch ourselves awake and all I can do  
>         is stand on the curb and say _Sorry_  
>              _about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine._


End file.
